Anything to make you stay
by Dollybelleol'whatserface
Summary: Follows on from Series 15. Snapshots of Harry and Nikki living together; post-work dates, 2am hugs. He was only meant to be staying there for a few days until he sorted his flat out. But a few days can turn into a few weeks and a few weeks can turn into never leaving at all.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**Disclaimer:** Silent Witness is property of the BBC. I don't own anything.**  
**

**Author's Note:**I haven't written anything new in _years!_ This is the first time I've ever written anything for _Silent Witness_, as I mainly used to write _Doctor Who _back in the David Tennant years. *sob* Please feel free to let me know what you think!

* * *

They've called in at Harry's flat after work because the builder had said, '_Reckon you're good to go back in, mate, if you need to. It's still gonna be upside down for a while, though_.'

There's a strong, vinegar-like smell of fresh grout and new plaster and there's a layer of powdery-white dust on every surface. There are mucky footprints all over his kitchen floor and there is a bucket of paint beside his kettle.

The builder was right, Harry concedes, as he wanders through his cold flat, eating his 'dinner', (which is actually just a cereal bar) the place is a complete mess.

He rejoins the unimpressed-looking blonde standing in his bedroom, and _no_, the fact that there should be _any_ woman in his bedroom looking unimpressed is not sitting very nicely with his ego at all; let alone that the woman is Nikki.

'What do you think?' he asks her, snapping off half of his _Nutri-Grain_ bar and handing it to her, before mimicking her pose and standing with his arms crossed, surveying his building-site bedroom

Nikki takes a careful bite out of the proffered cereal bar before answering him, still with a critical frown on her face.

'I _think_, Harry, that there is a cold tap on your pillow.'

Harry looks at the pile of debris which used to be his bed. Sure enough, he can quite clearly see the blue circle in the middle of a chrome-silver tap handle that is perched on what used to be his pillow.

'And,' she continues, after another mouthful of cereal bar. 'You've got a skip's worth of rubble on your bed. Where exactly were you intending on sleeping?'

'Just call me Mr. Flintstone,' he jokes, feebly, poking at half a brick with his foot.

Nikki raises her eyebrows and marches away from him, to the doorway, clicking the light switch on. The room remains bleak and shadowy. The only light is coming in through the window, from the mid-evening sky outside.

'No electricity,' she announces, pointedly. 'Have you got any water?'

She doesn't wait for him to answer before she has left the room and is picking her way around the bathroom.

'No,' he admits, under his breath, because he has actually already checked…

'No!' she calls triumphantly from the next room, her voice slightly muffled. He can hear her fiddling with the taps on the sink.

She edges her way back into the room and faces him with her hands on her hips, looking very beautiful, and very impatient. He's bewilderingly reminded of when he used to get told off at school for pulling a practical joke.

'Harry, you don't _seriously_ think you can move back in, do you?' she demands, brusquely

Harry shrugs and for some reason he's finding it very difficult to look Nikki in the eye. He decides he'll look at his newly-pasted together wall for as long as he can get away with.

'Well I can't just keep staying at yours, can I?' he murmurs, quietly. Awkwardly, even.

'Why ever not?' she asks her brown eyes wide, voice full of surprise.

She shakes her head at him, as if it is quite the most ridiculous thing she has ever heard him say and heads towards the front door. But not before sending an amused, smirk over her shoulder at him.

Harry stands there for about twenty seconds, mentally arguing with himself, the image of her crinkled, smiley eyes looping around his brain and then obediently follows the clip-clip of her high heels.

Nikki's waiting for him in the car, her eyes determinedly focused on something in her rear-view mirror, yet not actually _looking_ at anything.

'You don't mind staying with me, do you?' She asks him as soon as he opens the passenger door, before he can even put his bag of (more) clothes in the footwell, before he's even sat down.

Harry chuckles as he gets in and rubs a hand over his unshaven jaw, before spotting the undisguised concern in Nikki's eyes. He instantly stops laughing.

'Hate it,' he replies in a dead-pan voice. 'I can't bear it,' he continues, his eyes twinkling as he sees that small flicker of vulnerability in her eyes melt away. 'You're absolutely the worst flatmate I've ever had.' With your…infestation of head lice,' he continues, talking over her giggles. 'And your _visitors_ at 3 o'clock in the morning.'

Nikki smiles at him. He smiles back, for no reason other than he can't seem to help it.

'I love it,' he corrects her, sincerely, no trace of sarcasm in his voice this time. 'Thank you. Again,' he says, stiltedly, 'For letting me stay.'

As casually as he can, he leans over and kisses her temple, trying very hard to keep his breathing quiet.

Nikki closes her eyes at the contact, her lips curling up at the corners and when she opens them again…the pathologist in him notices that her pupils are dilated. _Ah. _

For three seconds he merely looks at her, allowing her eyes to bore into his.

'I like having you to stay,' she tells him, simply.

'Course you do,' he replies as she starts the engine. 'I'm rather spectacular at doing the dishes, did you not know?'

A few weeks later Harry is at his desk in the middle of the afternoon, having just finished the PM of a girl called Leanne Bennett, a twenty-four year old dancer who was stabbed to death on a night out. He is typing up his report, engrossed in his writing, occasionally flicking back through his earlier hand-written notes for reference. Well, as engrossed as he can be, having been working for a solid eleven hours.

He recognises the familiar _Miss Dior_ perfume as Nikki enters the office, before he even hears her hurried footsteps behind him.

"Patients' Records Office at UCLH has sent over the medical notes you requested,' she tells him, dropping a heavy-looking brown paper parcel in front of him. 'I think there's a set that I'm after in amongst them, actually,' she adds hopefully

'Thanks,' he replies, not looking up from his computer screen. 'Darling?' he says, putting on an overly posh, clipped English accent like a BBC newsreader from the 50s. 'I shall be late home this evening. Dreadfully sorry.'

Nikki, who is ripping the packaging off the tightly-wrapped bundle, raises an eyebrow in his direction, but like Harry, does not look up from what she is doing.

"Because of this night club case? I thought you'd nearly finished?'

Harry does look up, then.

'You mistake me, my dear,' he tells her earnestly, still in a plummy accent. "I shan't be working. I'm meeting a rather _striking_ woman I had the pleasure of talking to at a crime scene last week.'

Nikki's hands still and she looks up, completely taken-aback, her mouth falling open slightly, before her look of surprise is replaced with a flash of hurt and then finally settles on embarrassment.

'Which crime scene?' she asks, lightly, her voice far too casual. She returns her attention to the now-unwrapped medical notes and starts turning them over so that they're the right way up, sorting out which ones are for her and which ones are for Harry.

'The OD in Knightsbridge,' he says, simply, taking Leanne Bennett's medical notes off Nikki. 'Thank you.'

But he doesn't open the notes; he's just watching Nikki, trying to gauge her reaction. He is half-smiling, his gaze intent, waiting for her to respond. It's a risk. He knows it's a risk. It's just that they've been having so much of a laugh, playing Mr and Mrs for the past few weeks, plus their regard for each other's personal space has dwindled so much that it is more or less non-existent.

She's a very clever, very brilliant woman is Nikki Alexander. So _why_ it seems to be taking her so long to process this is anybody's guess, really. He can almost hear the cogs in her brain whirring.

Because…

'You weren't talking to a woman at the Knightsbridge scene,' she insists, shaking her head in confusion. 'You were with _me_. Trying to wind-up DCI Redfern and avoiding doing anything else remotely productive or helpful.'

Harry quite pointedly doesn't say anything. The lab suddenly feels very quiet for a moment. He can hear the gentle humming of his computer, and still he hasn't taken his eyes off Nikki.

'Ah, yes,' he agrees, thoughtfully, as if Nikki has just pointed out something that he hadn't noticed. 'So I was.'

Nikki continues to stare at him as if he's lost his mind. He raises his eyebrows meaningfully, and inclines his head at her, his lips slightly parted. Waiting.

Ah. Realisation. Here it comes…

Nikki smiles and her cheeks go faintly pink. 'Pass me that file back, please,' she orders, gesturing at the patient's file she has just given him, a mischievous look on her face.

'No!' he says incredulously, clutching it to his chest, away from her outstretched hand and laughing.

'Why not?!'

'Why? Because you're going to hit me on the head with it!' he says, sounding mildly affronted.' 'And that is a blatant and serious misuse of confidential medical records. I can't let you do that, I'm afraid.'

Nikki rolls her eyes at him and giggles, again, looking so naturally and unobtrusively happy that he just can't seem to look away.

'Where are we going?' she asks, a cross between suspicion and excitement dancing in her eyes.

'I've got work to do,' he says, importantly, once again talking in his normal voice, avoiding her question and turning back to his computer with a self-indulgent smirk on his face. 'Go away.'

'Harry!' she half-laughs, half-whines. 'Tell me?'

'The stab wound,' he reads aloud from his report as he is typing it, ignoring her. 'Is fifteen millimetres across…'

He flinches, cringing away from her, as she picks up the file and brings it down onto his head with a _thwack._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

The next time that Harry goes to see his flat, he ends up going by himself. Nikki has been called out to the scene of a hit-and-run just outside Royal London hospital. It is a Saturday night and they _had_ been in the middle of their dinner.

'He's dead,' Harry had pointed out, grumbling as he wrapped cling film around her unfinished lasagne whilst she had rushed around trying to put her shoes on and brush her teeth at the same time. 'He's not going to be any _less_ dead if you finish your dinner and get there three minutes later.'

'Oh yes, because dying is such an _inconvenience_,' Nikki had tutted at him, though with a smile on her face as she shrugged her coat on. 'Don't wait up,' she had called, making her way over to the door.

'Wasn't planning to,' he had muttered to himself, as the door had banged shut behind her, leaving him alone. Shortly after that he had decided that he might as well check on his flat, in the absence of any…blonde distractions.

He is actually very, very glad that Nikki is not here. He snaps the lights on as he goes in, trampling over days-old bills and letters as he does so. The electricity is back on, he notes, unnecessarily. That's a start.

His kitchen is now free of any building paraphernalia. Gone is the bucket of paint and the sheets of newspapers that had covered the surfaces along with it.

The bathroom is at last, in tact. The eye-wateringly strong smell of grout has subsided slightly, but it's still there. It could do with a good clean and bleach, though. He catches sight of himself in the bathroom mirror above his sink. He doesn't know what expression he was expecting to see on his face, but it wasn't this one. He looks…curiously disappointed.

Glumly, he twists the hot tap. He isn't surprised when a thin, warm stream of water trickles onto his fingertips.

Wiping his hand on his jeans, he goes through into his bedroom. It's now rubble-free. He can at least see his bed, now. There is plaster-dust and some form of gritty powder all over the floor. His footsteps are crunching slightly.

Other than that though, it looks exactly as it should. Which is good…isn't it? So why is he feeling just a little bit gutted?

He walks into his living room and sits down, leaning back into the cushions with a sigh. It feels strange to be back here, like coming home after being on holiday. But in those cases it's always nice to be back in your own bed, to make coffee in your own kitchen and to be back among your familiar surroundings.

The thing is; his flat is completely able to be lived-in now. There is now absolutely no reason for him to stay at Nikki's. Which is a shame because he likes living with her. He's never lived with a woman before. On paper, it sounds like a complete nightmare; the nagging and the arguing over whose turn it is to clean and leaving the toilet seat up and mess and having someone _there_ all the time…

With Nikki, though, it's not so bad. She's the exception to the rule, though. It's just because it's her, really.

Idly, he thinks about their little 'date' a week ago. He had surprised her and taken her out to the new Indian cafe about five minutes away from the university. He had surprised himself, actually. Even now he doesn't know what it was that made him do it. One minute he had been writing his report on that nightclub stabbing and then the next he was asking her out. They'd gone straight from work, obviously. Still dressed in their work clothes and had eaten naans the size of wheel alloys whilst drinking _Cobra_ beer and laughing about whether their waiter plucked his eyebrows or not.

The only thing out of the ordinary really was that the taxi dropped them off at the same address. Together.

Oh, and their almost-kiss on the way home.

They had been at a stand-still, the traffic lights had been on red. They'd been sitting next to each other, knees touching and they had both laughed at something that Harry had said. Then, when they'd both stopped laughing, they had simply realised that their faces were too close together.

Neither of them had done anything to rectify the situation, either. They hadn't moved. Nikki's gaze had dropped to Harry's lips and he'd just smiled at her and leant down…

Then the traffic lights had changed from amber to green, a Ford Ka had pulled out on them and there had been a melange of furious swearing, horn-blasting and crude hand-gestures from the taxi driver. Thus, their moment had been destroyed.

Harry sighs, looking around his plush living room and frowning at his blank, wide-screen TV. Now he knows what living with Nikki is like, can he really bring himself to come back here? To this?

Well, he'll have to soon.

Later, as he's switching all the lights off, locking up and heading back to Nikki's flat, he realises what this fed-up feeling reminds him of.

It's that feeling that you get on New Year's day, when you're taking the tree and all the decorations down and you realise that Christmas is _over_, the festivities have finished and there's not a great deal to look forward to now, for months on end.

* * *

She's being quiet. She's being intentionally quiet so that she doesn't wake him up but he has only been half-dozing anyway; reluctant to properly go to sleep until he's heard her key turning in the lock.

Harry hears her click the kitchen light on, drop her keys on the table with a metallic _clatter_ and sit down. He's assuming that, at half-past two in the morning she'll go straight to bed, but when ten minutes pass and he still hasn't heard her move, he decides that he'd better go and see her. If only to make sure she hasn't fallen asleep at the table.

The too-bright kitchen light hurts his eyes and he finds himself unintentionally squinting at her. She's sitting at the kitchen table, still with her coat on. Her hair is tied up in a bun, off her face, as it always is after she has been at a crime scene.

She has been crying. Quite a lot. Her cheeks are wet and her eyes are pink and puffy. She doesn't look up in surprise when he comes into the kitchen, she just watches him walk over to the bench and lean against it with his arms crossed, waiting for her to speak.

'He was an SHO on a Gastro ward at the hospital,' Nikki tells him, her voice croaky. 'The man who got ran over. He'd finished his shift but he'd stayed to see his girlfriend at changeover. She's a…staff nurse on the same ward. He was on his way home.'

Harry nods, not saying anything. He just looks at her, feeling helpless. Neither one of them has said 'Hello.'

'You all right?' he asks her, gravely, standing stock-still as Nikki begins to unfasten her coat with trembling hands.

She looks at him. Really looks at him, and it's as if she hadn't noticed that he was there. 'What? Yes. Fine,' she gabbles shakily, standing up from the table. 'I didn't mean to wake you.'

'I wasn't asleep.'

'Oh.'

The kitchen floor is cold beneath Harry's bare feet and his eyes are only just adjusting to the light. The whole flat is silent, and Nikki looks very tired and very drained.

He knows that there is something else. Something else has unsettled her.

But somehow, that doesn't matter. They'll come to that later because first, there's something he needs to do.

So, he does it.

In a matter of seconds, he walks over to her and wordlessly wraps his arms around her, pulling her close into his body and tucking her head under his chin.

Her arms lock around him, almost possessively and she hugs him back, tightly. He feels her shoulders and chest begin to shudder and with a jolt of horror, realises that she is crying again.

He exhales air through his nose and gently adjusts his hold on her, reaching his hand up to cradle her head. His fingers stroke her hair of their own accord

She's crying into his chest, and although it's muffled, the sound of it is unbearable.

'Hey,' he soothes. 'Nikki, shhh.'

She mumbles something in response, but he can't make out what it is.

He lets go of her, ever so slightly to peer down at her. 'Sorry?'

Nikki gives him a watery smile and looks up at the ceiling, shaking her head. 'It's so silly!' she insists, blinking back tears.

'Nikki, you are many things,' Harry tells her in a low voice, his hands resting on her shoulders. 'But silly is not one of them.'

Nikki swallows and looks at him tearfully, her eyes raking over his face and his hair and when she speaks it is in barely more than a whisper.

'He just looked so much like you.'

There is a flicker of understanding in Harry's eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, anything to make her feel better but before he can think of something, Nikki has wrapped her arms around him again, her chin digging into his shoulder.

And they stay like that for a long time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

He has taken Nikki for lunch down by the river. His treat. She has protested about this, of course, but he has insisted. One last thank you before he moves back into his flat.

Because he _is_ finally moving back into his flat. Today, as a matter of fact.

When he had first told her, she had pointed out that he might as well stay for dinner, seeing as she was making it for two, anyway.

Then, staying for dinner had turned into staying for one more night. Staying for one more night had turned into staying until he had hired cleaners to get rid of the last of the redecorating mess.

Staying until his flat was pristine had turned into…a realisation that he had no more excuses left. So, he had collected together his things, removed his shaving stuff from her bathroom, bundled his sheets into her washer and now, here they are.

They are sat outside, at cold metal tables that have holographic circles embossed on the table-tops. There is a chilly breeze coming in off the river. Nikki is huddled into her pashmina and Harry is warming his gloveless hands around his coffee cup.

Their breath is clouding in the air as they talk. It is probably the last time they will be able to sit outside until next spring. It is just getting _so_ cold.

They are not the only ones who have chosen to sit outside, though.

A group of students are sitting in hoodies and _Uggs_, tucking into toasties and jacket potatoes. Harry can hear a BBM alert pinging off every couple of minutes from someone's _Blackberry._

There is a little family of three behind Nikki; a baby, sucking determinedly on a soggy bread roll, anchored into his pushchair. The baby's dad and what looks like his grandma are sitting at the table, sharing a pot of tea and perfect, dainty sandwiches. The dad has a dirty bib sticking out of his breast-pocket and every so often, the grandma leans over to coo at the baby, affectionately.

Then, somehow and Harry is not entirely sure how because time seems to have accelerated whilst they've just been talking and sipping at coffee, but he has finished his grilled sandwich and Nikki has given up on her three-bean salad and they're finished.

Nikki waits until a pretty teenage girl has appeared and whisked away their plates and cups before she moves to get up from the table.

'Shall we?' She says, making an awkward 'stand-up' gesture at him and bending down to pick up her bag.

Harry grunts noncommittally and in a comfortable silence, they leave the café's patio and head out onto the path.

'Thank you for lunch, Harry,' Nikki smiles, touching his arm lightly as they wander beside the railings that run along the muddy-brown waters of the Thames.

'You're welcome,' he replies, elbowing her and giving her what he hopes is his most suave wink. It probably hasn't worked, though because Nikki laughs at him. Undeniably laughs _at_ him.

'And if there's anything you've left at mine,' she continues, sounding suddenly business-like. 'I'll bring it in to work tomorrow.'

'Thanks, Roomie.'

He knows he hasn't left anything, but it's nice of her to offer.

'I thought we weren't saying anymore thank yous?' she asks, the hint of a tease in her voice as she looks sideways at him.

'Well, we had but then you thanked me for lunch,' he points out.

'But lunch was to say thank you for letting you stay,' Nikki presses on, refusing to let it go. 'And you'd already bought me flowers for that so now we're uneven, again!'

Harry is half paying attention to her quibbling, half just listening to the sound of the river and her heels on the concrete. He smiles and doesn't immediately answer.

'Well,' he says thoughtfully, as if deliberating the point. 'I'm sure you could think of a way to make it up to me,' he tells her, faux-seductively, laughing.

Nikki titters and rolls her eyes at him, shaking her head at his immature sense of humour and they carry on walking.

But then, Nikki pauses and drifts over to the railings to gaze at the river, looking preoccupied. She frowns at the water thoughtfully, as if she has been asked to answer a particularly difficult question.

'I can try,' she offers quietly.

It is on hearing her voice behind him that Harry stops dead, realising that she's not beside him and looks back at her, wrong-footed.

He had been joking. Just carrying on like they always did. So why does Nikki look so flustered? All of a sudden, he feels uncharacteristically serious and the last thing he feels like doing is laughing.

Harry takes three steps back towards Nikki so that he's standing in front of her. He stares at her, staring like he has never stared at anyone before.

Nikki does her best to return his gaze, but she swallows and looks to the side before bringing her eyes up to meet his again, her cheeks turning pink. She looks so nervous. It makes her look so much younger.

'Stay,' she says tentatively. She's unconsciously playing with the nails on her right hand; clicking the nails of her thumb and first-finger together.

'Stay…?' Harry repeats, frowning. 'Stay living with you?'

He doesn't know whether to laugh or not. He's half-expecting her to start giggling and tell him that she's only joking.

But, wordlessly, Nikki nods.

Harry lets out a breath he isn't aware he's been holding. He looks at the Thames and then back at Nikki. She's waiting for him to say something; she's standing stock-still and looks nothing short of petrified.

Harry sighs and smiles, humourlessly. His mouth turns up at the corners, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

'What _for_?' He asks her sharply. Probably a little _too_ sharply. His expression is impatient. He's thinking of the half-baked excuses they have used for the past month or so. Their childish, 'just-one-more' rationalising. He just can't be bothered.

Nikki blinks, taken aback at how harsh he sounds but is undeterred.

'For me,' she breathes.

There is a small silence in which Harry can only gape at her, almost transfixed. Except, it isn't a silent silence, at all. The river is gushing past them, to their left and they can hear the sound of the inner-city traffic not too far away.

For some reason, for some inescapable reason, he has the mental image of the two of them, sat on Nikki's sofa on Christmas Eve, sharing a bottle of wine, watching _The Snowman_, with his arm slung casually around her shoulders…

'No,' he says gravely, his eyes full of anguish. 'Nikki…no, I can't. I'm sorry.'

He reaches towards Nikki, and grips both her elbows, squeezing her upper arms, gently.

'No, Nikki, listen…'

Nikki looks aghast. Stunned at her own forwardness. She's still gazing at him, her lips slightly parted, as if she can't quite believe that those words had dropped from _her_ mouth or that _Harry_ had said what he's just said.

Lower lip quivering, her eyes slightly shinier than they were before, she tries to shrug herself out of Harry's hold.

'Nikki!' Harry implores her, not relinquishing his grip. 'Not like this,' he tells her, using one finger to gesture between them, pointing from Nikki to himself and then back again.

'Not if it's going to be like this,' he continues his eyes boring into hers. 'This just-friends, never-ending roundabout of tiptoeing round each other and ignoring the _bloody_ issue that we've been doing for more than half a decade, Nikki, no,' he bursts out hotly, his voice rising.

He leaves his words hanging in the air for a second, whilst he takes a breath and nods at her encouragingly, as if willing her to understand.

'Only if it's like _this_,' he says, gently.

Before Nikki has time to even register his words, he pulls her closer to him by her elbows and not thinking about the fact that they both must taste of coffee, he kisses her, one cold hand coming up to hold her face.

Nikki responds almost immediately, clutching his jacket into fists and kissing him back with such force that Harry actually stumbles backwards.

They stand there, tightly entwined in the middle of the path, Nikki's pashmina flapping out behind her in the wind until gently, they pull apart.

Harry rests his forehead against Nikki's for a moment, his breathing faster than normal.

'Was that you agreeing with me?' he murmurs, with a hint of amusement in his voice.

'Yes,' Nikki says, smiling widely, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. She blinks furiously and sniffs, trying to gain some form of composure. 'It happens occasionally, Harry.

Before he's even opened his mouth to reply, she presses a hard, quick kiss to his lips, just to prove her point.

They carry on walking back to the car, eventually, after a few ecstatic hugs and marvelling 'I can't-believe-I-can-just-kiss-you-now' kisses.

After all, the world doesn't look any different to how it did just a few moments earlier. The sky isn't an exotic blue, the sun isn't beaming down. It is still cold and miserable and there is the dank smell of old, dirty water hanging in the air.

Despite this, Harry reaches out to lightly hold Nikki's hand.

'What are we, fourteen?' she teases, bumping into him with her shoulder. She smiles, her eyes crinkling and readjusts their grip so that her fingers are interlaced with his and holds on tightly.

* * *

They are almost a month into their Proper Real Life Actual Couple relationship when Leo ever so gently, ever so delicately drops a bombshell on Harry.

He tells him in almost the same way that he would remind him that he has a report due in at the end of the month.

They are in Leo's office, discussing the university's new Undergraduate prospectus. It is featuring a photo of Harry in full scrubs gazing intently at the contents of a freshly-opened stomach, which of course has been covered by a bright blue text box detailing the number of points per module for Forensic Pathology.

'Harry,' says Leo on a low voice. 'About you and Nikki…'

Harry's head snaps up from where he has idly been labelling every piece of equipment seen in the photograph. He is halfway through writing 'autopsy table.'

Leo's expression is one of a man who would rather be having any conversation other than the one at hand and his tone is apologetic.

'It would be irresponsible of me not to mention to you that colleagues who enter into a relationship with each other and continue working together do so at their manager's discretion,' begins Leo, hesitantly.

Harry makes an indignant noise, about to protest.

'You already know my thoughts on this,' Leo says hurriedly, cutting him off before Harry has a chance to argue. 'I have absolutely no problems at all. In fact,' he gives Harry a knowing look and pleased smile 'I don't think I could be more thrilled for you. For both of you.'

Harry briefly smirks at this in acknowledgement.

'But?' He prompts Leo cautiously, a note of warning in his voice.

'But,' continues Leo, reluctantly. 'The university itself won't allow a couple who are married to work together in the same department. It's not just this university, either; it's a common policy wherever you go. You know…holidays, maternity leave…paternity leave.'

Harry nods vigorously, as if nodding would block out Leo's voice, raising his hand in a surrendering gesture.

'Leo, Nikki and I aren't married,' Harry points out, sounding more than a little agitated. 'We've only just properly got together. Maternity leave...? He runs a hand over his face looking deeply, deeply unnerved.

'Well, of course I know you're not quite there, yet,' says Leo, awkwardly.

'No,'

'And like I've told you both, I have no problems with your relationship. It's just in the long-term,' Leo trails off and there is a pregnant pause as Leo looks down at the desktop and Harry chooses to focus on the prospectus in front of him.

'You think we're in this for the long-term, then?' asks Harry casually, intentionally trying to sound only vaguely interested.

He watches Leo earnestly, waiting for him to answer. He's almost holding his breath.

Leo sighs and manages to look both resigned and uncomfortable at the same time.

'Yes,' he replies carefully. 'I do. I think you'll fight like cat and dog as much as you always have done but…I think you'll get there in the end. Yeah.'

His voice rises, hopefully at the end and Harry makes a noise of faint amusement through his nose.

'Yeah…I think so, too.' Harry admits, looking sheepish. All of a sudden, he can't quite keep a manic, school-boy grin off his face, as if he's just had a massive weight lifted off his shoulders.

'You would be a fool to let her go, Harry,' Leo warns him, looking uncharacteristically moved, reaching out to shake Harry's hand in of-the-moment congratulations.

'I won't,' says Harry seriously, looking Leo straight in the eye. 'Just don't mention 'paternity leave' to me ever again,' he jokes, a glimmer of childish humour taking over. 'We don't have a defibrillator handy.'

Harry gets up to leave and Leo merely looks pointedly at the prospectus, where Harry has labelled himself, 'Dr. Harry Cunningham' and doesn't say anything.

'It won't be easy, you know,' Leo says at last. 'No matter which one of you decides to leave.'

Harry is nearly out of the door and whips round to look back at Leo. All at once, he looks years older. Very sad and very weary.

'You're both irreplaceable.'

He gives Harry a small smile and picks up a pile of letters marked for his attention.

Harry nods in acknowledgement and, feeling like he'd been hit over the head with a heavy object, heads back into the main office.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Author's Note: **Last chapter! I just want to say thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed this! Thank you for welcoming me onto the Silent Witness team!

* * *

Harry is back at his flat. Again. He is meandering through from room to room half-heartedly pointing out a flat-screen TV _here_ and a skylight _there_. He comes to a halt as he leans against his kitchen table and folds his arms to face the slightly awed looking twenty-something who has been following him around 'viewing' his flat.

Harry shrugs, 'I'm a doctor, not an estate agent. If you need somewhere to live, this place is empty. It's yours if you want it.'

Michael, who has been working as a lab technician at the Lyell Centre for the last sixteen months, yet could easily be mistaken for an off-duty Premiership footballer, shakes his head and spreads his hands wide.

'The missus would've probably asked you ten questions about putting in heated floorboards,' he jokes, looking around the kitchen.

He gives Harry a 'I-can-hold-this-together-I'm-a-big-boy' sort of brave smile.

Harry raises his eyebrows and nods once in understanding.

The reason Michael needs somewhere to live is because his girlfriend of six years has kicked him out so that she can move in 'some braying posh boy from her work who ties his jumper round his shoulders.'

'I should probably mention that the TV has every sports channel,' offers Harry seriously, trying to sound like a newsreader breaking big news. 'All the Sky Sports, Eurosports _and_…ESPN.'

'Yessss! Good man!'

Michael punches the air and guffaws at Harry's apt choice of selling point.

'I'll take it, mate.'

* * *

Later, when he and Michael have finished going through insurance policies, contracts, bills and dropping off keys, Nikki is still having trouble getting her head round it. They're sitting with a glass of wine each, half-watching the 8pm Keira Knightley film on channel 4.

'He took it because you said it has _ESPN_?' she echoes in disbelief, her eyes clouding in confusion.

Harry swallows a mouthful of wine. 'Well, yeah. That and a few other things,' he says, reasonably. 'To be honest I think he would have taken a flat in sheltered accommodation, complete with an incontinent OAP roommate if it meant he didn't have to stay living with his parents and his Bieber-loving sister.'

Nikki pulls a face in distaste.

'Your_ bachelor_ pad though, Harry,' she reminds him softly, squeezing his arm.

'I know, the end of an era,' he sighs heavily, voice full of mock-distress. 'It's an emotional time.'

He chuckles and presses a kiss to her hairline, resting his free hand on her knee.

'My bachelor days are over,' he informs her loftily. 'According to Leo, anyway, he's written me off.'

Nikki, who has shifted closer to him to rest against his shoulder, cranes her neck to look at him properly.

'What's Leo been saying?' she asks, with a half-smile on her face. She sounds amused.

Harry regards her for a moment and lowers his wine glass.

'He as good as told me,' he murmurs, choosing his words carefully, 'That one of us would have to start looking for a new job if we became more...'

'More than what we are now,' Nikki finishes for him, calmly, guessing at what he's about to say.

'Yeah, something like that,' says Harry offhandedly. Apparently the University wouldn't like it.'

Nikki leans forward to put her wine glass down on the coffee table in front of her with a _chink_ and tucks one foot up underneath her, angling her body towards Harry. She waves the remote control in the direction of the TV and mutes Keira Knightley crying in a green dress.

'I thought that, anyway,' she says, sounding not in the least bit ruffled. 'Are you surprised?'

She gives him a bemused smile, as if he's being particularly slow on the uptake.

'Well…taken aback a bit, yeah,' grumbles Harry with a self-conscious laugh. 'I hadn't really considered it, to be honest. I've had other things on my mind.'

He picks up one of Nikki's hands and starts playing with it.

'Like?' she prompts, watching him entwine their fingers, release them then entwine them, again.

'Like you know… _you_. And a twenty-one year old girl dying of hypothermia,' he says matter-of-factly, referring to the case he is currently working on.

Nikki rolls her eyes at the 'you,' but then her eyes light up in interest.

'Oh! Have you identified the DNA found on her body, by the way?' she asks, keenly.

Harry laughs at the whiplash-inducing change in conversation and her ability to get side-tracked.

'Yeah, whoever she slept with before she died, it wasn't her boyfriend,' he tells her with the air of an old woman revelling in scandalous piece of gossip.

'There's no evidence that she was raped?' Nikki persists.

'Nope.'

For a moment Harry goes back to looking at the muted TV, where WW1 soldiers are stumbling through what looks like a dark barn.

'I'll go,' he tells her with a sort of quiet finality, getting back to the subject. 'If…_when_ such an occasion arises that we can't keep working together, I'll ask to leave.'

Nikki doesn't answer him. He feels her stiffen beside him, hears her sharp intake of breath.

'Does that mean you're not going to trade me in for a younger, perkier post-graduate any time soon?' she asks him, jokingly, her smile wide and eyes soft with affection.

'Well…not any time soon, no. Not any time, _ever_. That all right with you?' he asks, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, pretending to be anxious.

'That's fine,' Nikki agrees, warmly, giving his hand a squeeze and leaning forward to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

'You know,' she says finally, sitting back on her heels with a nervous giggle. 'I used to think that if you and I ever got together…we'd probably never break up. We'd have no reason to,' she admits, softly. 'It seemed overwhelming. I was…scared.'

She doesn't quite meet his eyes as she says this, preferring instead to look at something just over his shoulder.

They both stay quiet for a moment.

'Hmm,' says Harry at last, tilting his head to the side as he replays her words a few times through his head. '_Used_ to think?' he asks her, raising an eyebrow at her.

'I _do_ think,' she corrects herself.

In response, Harry taps her cheeks twice, giving her his most childish smirk before he kisses her, his hands either side of her face, holding it gently as if it were made out of bone china.

He pulls away to look at her appraisingly with a small frown, sliding his hands down to her shoulders.

'And are you still scared?' he probes cautiously but in a tone which suggests that he's almost afraid to hear the answer.

'Err-yes!'

'Oh thank _God_, me too!' he half-shouts, throwing his head back in relief. They both laugh as Harry raises his left hand at they have an almighty high-five to celebrate.

'But let me tell you something, though,' he tells her, narrowing his eyes at her and pointing at her severely. 'And this is the last time I will ever say it to a new person.'

He sniggers, unable to keep a serious expression and lowers his hand.

'I love you,' he tells her, abruptly, his entire face softening. 'A ridiculous, embarrassing amount. And do you know what I think?' he asks her conversationally, not letting her get a word in.

'What?' Nikki croaks making a noise that is half a laugh, half a happy sob, her eyes watery and her cheeks pink and blotchy.

Harry inches his face closer so that they're almost nose to nose.

'I think you might _just…_' he murmurs, sounding very pleased with himself.

'Love you too?' Nikki suggests, talking over him before he can tease her. 'Is that what you think, Harry?

She clasps her hands around his neck and hugs him, her eyelashes tickling the side of his face.

'Because you'd be _absolutely_ right!' she declares, giggling into his ear, still with her arms around him.

Harry smirks into her shoulder and instinctively rubs her back in small circles. He likes being right. She never tells him he's right.

He's going to have to remind her of this occasion. Every so often.


End file.
